Young Fragile Lives
by mystifyre
Summary: Two girls; sharing age, needs, dreams and desires. But both leading two very different lives. Lives that would one day unexpectedly alter their perceptions and their fates.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: This fanfic is based on the musical and not the Victor Hugo novel. This first chapter is relatively short but only really serves as a prologue.  
**

**1823, Montfermeil**

Upon hearing the familiar creak of the door opening and the unmistakable thumping of heavy boots on the wooden floor, the little girl eagerly leapt from her bedroom.

"'Ponine!"

The male's voice boomed through the inn, authoritative and powerful. It only served to make the child scurry faster down the wooden stairs and into the bar. It was deserted, the tables and chairs lying vacant; there'd be a rush later when the male guests returned, elated and giddy from their fine flings, requiring several beers to quench their thirst after satisfying their need for the pleasurable business.

"I have a present for my beautiful princess."

There, in the middle of the room, stood an elegant, rich polished mahogany rocking horse, complete with a saddle and its various accessories. The girl, her blue eyes wide with astonishment at its beauty, ran her hand over the sleek wooden curves of the horse, before carefully sitting astride the masterpiece.

"Papa, I love it!" she squealed in delight.

Éponine was the Thénardiers' only child; a dainty, pretty creature with flowing dark brown hair. She was always dressed immaculately, often in fine silk dresses; a child grown accustomed to pampering and indulgence.

Whilst the Monsieur Thénardier stood proudly watching his daughter admire her gift, another small girl stood unnoticed – or perhaps purposefully ignored? – in the far corner of the room. Dressed in rags and growing thin, she was an impoverished figure in comparison. She'd been quietly sweeping when Monsieur Thénardier had arrived home, and now watched in mournful silence as he spoiled the other girl. How she longed to have such lovely toys and clothes. How she longed to feel loved and wanted like her…

"What are you staring at, Cosette?" the young girl riding the rocking horse sneered, glaring at her and bringing her presence to her father's attention.

As Monsieur Thénardier's eyes narrowed to slits, his hands clenched into fists as he removed the leather strap from his waist, Cosette clumsily dropped the broom and braced herself for her punishment, shrinking into the far corner. It was over in seconds, but the lashes stung for hours and left marks that remained for weeks.

"Go and fetch some water from the well!" he bellowed, shooing her away.

"Yes, Cosette. You haven't been since yesterday!" piped up Éponine.

Unfortunately for Cosette the girl was not, as she had initially hoped upon her arrival at the inn, playmate material. She merely followed the example her parents' gave and had not hesitated in joining in with their mistreatment of her often mercilessly landing Cosette in trouble. Despite her young eight years, the girl secretly envied the brat. Upon arriving at the inn with her mother, who was desperately seeking someone to care for her daughter whilst she worked, with the promise of sending money each month to support Cosette, the Thénardiers had been the only ones to benefit. The hard earned money that Fantine sent them for her was selfishly used to provide them with luxury. Whilst the family got the fresh fruit and bread, Cosette was left with the soggy crusts and moulding apples. She learnt to silently withstand the abuse and sullenly adapted to her role as servant. Better to be grateful for the shelter and measly food she received, rather than being another beggar living rough on the streets. Ordered to sweep, clean and cook whilst Éponine was allowed to play with her dolls and go out to the merchants with Madame, Cosette only had the nights to look forward to. Before she fell asleep, Cosette would pray that her mother would return and whisk her away from this miserable existence that was her life. And she would escape, for those precious hours, into a world of happiness where she could be free and loved.

Two girls; sharing age, needs, dreams and desires. But both leading two very different lives. Lives that would one day unexpectedly alter their perceptions.

And their fates.


	2. Defiance

**Author's Note: A thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read the prologue to my first Les Mis 'fic. All reviews, whether they be praise or constructive criticism, are always welcome. There are still many things I need to learn! Enjoy!  
**

**1832, Paris**

For a moment, the girl didn't respond to the gentle drumming. She shuffled closer to the little warmth the fire in the room provided, before the drumming developed into a crashing crescendo. The sound gave a sense of urgency that couldn't be ignored, like an impatient child furiously tapping their fingers on a school desk to attract attention. In response, the girl leapt to her feet, snatched up the bucket and dashed for the door, dropping it in her haste. Rushing outside with the bucket, she placed it where the roof formed a V and channeled rain into the narrow defile, allowing the water to gush from the roof into her container. Then, she tilted her head towards the torn sky, allowing the water to soak her clothes and skin, as if it could cleanse her of all her sins. Rain was a rare commodity during the summers in France, so on the very few and far between days when it arrived briefly to offer some respite from the smothering humidity, she liked to relish it in all its glory. The girl watched as the bucket collected the only clean water that God could provide for them. When you lived in the squalor of Saint Michele, you lived with the knowledge that you couldn't afford to drink water from any source other than from the sky. One sip from a neighbour's well or from the fountain of water from a leaking pipe and there would be nothing but crippling stomach pains for weeks to remind you of your stupidity.

As the rain trickled to a halt, the girl returned inside. She cupped her hands and dipped into the pure water, drinking up its refreshing coolness as it touched her ragged lips and relieved her parched throat. Then, she proceeded to place the bucket on the fire and peeled off her saturated clothes, until she stood only in her undergarments in the middle of the room. There was something quite relieving about removing her filthy rags; her bodice creased, her skirt torn, as if releasing a burden. Perhaps it was just relief that she could remove them and begin to feel a little less dirty. With the water lukewarm, she scrubbed relentlessly at her skin until it was red raw, as if scraping away the surface would reveal another skin, flinching at the searing sting from the deep cuts that served as reminders of her lessons learnt. When she was done, the girl wrapped herself in a towel like a protective cocoon and shuffled close to the flickering glow of the fire to dry. She wasn't fond of waiting, as waiting gave opportunity for her mind to wander and pluck up a memory from the far quarters of her brain that she had hurriedly filed long ago, eager to forget. Now, she wished she'd savoured and appreciated every moment she had spent in a porcelain bath, surrounded by the comforting smells of rose water and beeswax. It seemed such a distant memory, yet it was only a matter of years. How could your life change so drastically in such a short space of time?

"Éponine!"

Upon hearing the thundering bellow that could only be associated with her father, the girl scrambled to get dressed and get to the door, all the while being tormented by dread. The fact he hadn't barged inside his own home meant that whatever he was about to say or do was to be a public affair. The stout man Éponine had once affectionately doted on as father had been reduced to a reckless, violent swine who channeled all his rage at her. Whether it be her forgetting to fetch wood for the fire or something out of her control, like the fact it was raining on the day he needed to , Éponine received the consequence. The Thénardiers had become so obsessed and accustomed to riches when she was a child that when their finances inevitably spiraled out of control and their debt swallowed them whole, their souls had been corrupted and overridden by greed. Monsieur Thénardier's craving for money was so strong that it surpassed his love for his family. He hadn't hesitated to plunge Éponine into his dirty work, forcing her to do her share and steal what she could for him to use or sell for himself. He was to be the only beneficiary; that much was clear. Éponine had reluctantly obeyed – what other option did she have? – and all her childhood innocence was stripped with it. The Éponine Thénardier that had spent her tender years being showered with gifts and blanketed with fuss and the undivided attention of many, was scorned. Nothing more than a rat; a street urchin.

Éponine noted now, like almost every other day she saw him, stepping out into the blinding sunlight that had so quickly mended the sky, that her father was quivering with fury, his huge fists clenched tightly at his sides. But today, unlike any other, she decided she would take a stand. Defend herself. She would take every beating just to have her voice heard.

"You want to tell me why you haven't done your share today?" he said, through gritted teeth.

The anger that so frequently fueled his actions was already pumping through his veins; bubbling and hot, reaching breaking point when he would undoubtedly explode. Éponine knew from experience that when he approached her in this state that nothing could pacify it. Nothing but a long, painful punishment, that is. But having this knowledge and bearing this experience on numerous occasions didn't make her any more afraid, any less immune. So, then came the pitiful, useless reply that came when fear took over.

"I was away to, Papa, but there's nobody about when it rains!"

She could feel her voice quavering as she spoke, faltering. As she glanced around helplessly, she saw, to her dismay, that a curious crowd had already gathered after hearing the commotion. And knowing her father, he didn't exactly like to disappoint an expectant audience with his play. Suddenly, she gasped as he fiercely gripped her wrist; so hard that she could already see the red bloom of a bruise, as he forced her against the door. He drew his face close to hers, so she could smell the strong, residual smell of bile and beer on his breath.

"Oh, I bet you were, Sweetheart,"

There was no trace of love to be found in that menacing tone he only adopted with her. All that had been destroyed when he made the selfish decision to walk the dark and lonely path to self-destruction. And if he wanted to do that, Éponine thought, that was fine. But she didn't want to be dragged down with him.

"Why should I have to do anything for you?" she said faintly, so much so that it was barely audible.

But her father had heard her perfectly fine and, at the retort, gripped her throat, threatening to choke out her words and strangle her dead.

"What did you say?" he demanded, his voice rising to a thunder.

Growing resilient in that moment, Éponine stared him straight in the eye.

"I said," she growled. "Why should I have to do anything for you?"

Immediately, the fragile branch of composure snapped. Éponine felt the breath being knocked out of her before she had even felt the harsh blow at it drove home. She could faintly hear the crowd gasp in horror as they watched the girl fold, unable to tear away their eyes from the tragic spectacle, like a car crash. But even as she slumped down to her knees, spluttering and fighting for breath, the burning ache in her ribs intensifying with every gasp of air, nobody protested or made a move to help. They knew better than to mess with Thénardier, for they knew his brutal strength. As she tried unsuccessfully to stagger to her feet, Éponine felt her father's grip dig into her shoulder, his nails grinding into her skin like thorns, injecting their poison. She numbed as he continued his ruthless torture; feeding her harsh words of reprimand and the price of courage through his fists. Finally, seemingly satisfied, Thénardier shoved her to the ground like a dead dog, before leaning close once more.

"That's why you should be doing what you are told, you stupid bitch!"

With one final kick, a startling blow that made Éponine wince, he turned away and left without another glance. As Éponine slowly began to summon all of what little strength she had left in her to lift her head from the ground, a shadow cast over her. But it did not offer a sympathising hand.

"You deserved it, 'Ponine. How else will you learn?"

The familiar, scornful voice of her mother, her words like venom. The girl averted her eyes to the cobblestones beneath her until the light touched her face once more, her mother gone.

"Éponine!"

A frantic voice broke the silence that followed, as a blonde boy raced towards her sprawled form, his blue eyes glistening with tears.

"Éponine!"

Tears washed over his features as he wrapped her in an embrace; a thoughtful gesture that made Éponine wince as pain wracked her body. Feeling her flinch, the child withdrew and the girl immediately pasted on a brave smile, propping herself up against the wall for support. By a quick glance, she could tell that the crowd had dispersed; they'd rather pretend that their lives were no more wretched, than admit that these acts were common in Saint Michele.

"It's alright, Gavroche," she assured, her voice weak, brushing away a lock of hair from his eyes. "I'm fine."

Gavroche was her confidante; the one person who she knew didn't judge her and showed her unconditional compassion when times got tough. He, too, was a street urchin and understood what it felt like to have unloving parents. His parents had abandoned him, leaving him to fend for himself of the squalid streets on Saint Michele, begging for food. He had adapted well though, and had developed a mischievous personality. Despite his woes, he seemed comfortable and content, taking it all in his stride as a big adventure. He admired Éponine for her bravery and her caring nature, in spite of the harrowing challenges she faced on an almost daily basis.

"Come on," he urged, pulling the girl to her feet. "Let's get away from here."

Éponine struggled the half a mile walk to Gavroche's destination. A disused shack, which had perhaps at one time been a respectable shop, stood dilapidated before them. It's blue paint façade was peeling away to reveal rotting wood. The windows were bleak and smothered in dust and cobwebs, some of the glass panes fractured like crevices in ice, others were smashed. All in all, to Éponine it wasn't a welcoming sight. Yet, Gavroche ushered her inside and, to her surprise, it was much more presentable. The open space was small and square in shape, with creaky wooden floors and whitewashed walls. It was sparsely furnished, offering only an oval wood table, three wicker chairs, which, on closer inspection, were threadbare, a large tin bucket that could easily be converted into a bath, a wood fire and an old, counterfeit Indian rug.

"I found this place not too long ago." Gavroche announced proudly.

"You've been staying here?"

"Yep! Mostly when it rains. Nobody knows about this place besides you!"

With Éponine's help, he lit the wood fire to provide some warmth and tended the best he could to Éponine's wounds, his eyes falling onto her skin, decorated in various hues of purple, blue and red.

"Éponine, you can't go back there."

He looked her in the eye as he said this, his voice pleading. Éponine sighed and winced, once again feeling the sharp ache of her ribs, like someone had piled bricks on them. She pulled the boy into a gentle embrace.

"I'm sorry, Gavroche, but you know I can't do that. They'd have me-" she cut off, the sour taste of that horrible word in her mouth. _Dead. _She couldn't bring herself to say the word because she feared that speaking it would somehow make it real.

"They'd have me scrubbing the floor for weeks," she finished.

At that, Gavroche hung his head in resignation. After a moment, he lifted it up again, a ghost of a smile flickering on his face.

"Well, at least promise me that you'll stay the night with me. I could use the company."

At that, Éponine's face broke into an honest smile. That was something she could commit to.

"Alright," she said. "I promise," she said.

At that, she wrapped her pinky finger around his to seal the deal.


	3. Fairytale Desires

**Author's Note: Once more, I take this opportunity to thank everyone who continues to read my 'fic. Why not make my day and review? :)**  
** Enjoy!**

Cosette stared wistfully out onto the cobblestone courtyard dreaming of a handsome young suitor, like most seventeen-year-olds do. She could imagine him now; agilely scaling the black wrought iron gates that barricaded her from the outside world, dressed in black knee-length breeches and a crisp, white shirt. Then, he'd grin with self-satisfaction as he dusted himself off and proceed to mimic Romeo's romantic act, tossing pebbles at her window, awaking her from her sleep. She'd pad across to the window and peek between the curtains to reveal the culprit below and beam, not hesitating to carefully clamber down the drainpipe and elope with him to Calais. However, there was no young suitor, nor had she ever set eyes on one.

Lying back down on her bed, she sighed with exasperation. Cosette, with her thick golden hair that cascaded elegantly past her shoulders, and her deep azure eyes that only served to compliment her delicate features, bore a startling resemblance to a mother that she could not remember. In fact, she could recall nothing other than her life at 55 Rue Plumet with her Papa, the respected Monsieur Madeleine who, in turn, disclosed very little about her childhood. For years she had hoped that some event or occurrence in her life would trigger a long-lost memory; a precious piece of the untouched jigsaw that could provide her with some hint as to what her upbringing had been like.

Just then, the man entered to bid goodnight. Cosette sat upright.

"Everything alright my dear Cosette?"

"Of course, Papa!" she was quick to reply, a false smile lighting up her face.

Monsieur Madeleine perched himself on the edge of the bed and gently brushed back a tendril of her blonde hair from her eyes.

"There are a few errands I need to run tomorrow. We can get you some new books, if you'd like?"

Cosette's isolated and sheltered life at Rue Plumet had meant she often had little to occupy her time with and so had taken to reading books, when the weather would allow, on the solitary bench in the courtyard. Having just finished Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet and numerous other classic literature stocked in her Papa's expansive library, she was eager to purchase more. Books fed and encouraged her imagination; allowing her to dream of distant places she longed to explore and noble princes she'd love the privilege to meet. For Cosette, it was a form of escapism with no boundaries or restrictions.

"Oh, yes! I'd love to! I just finished reading Romeo and Juliet today."

At that, the man grinned and planted a kiss on her forehead, before standing to leave.

"You'll be tired after all that reading. Good night, Cosette."

Although she conveyed and felt unconditional love for the only person that had been so dedicated in caring for her and whom had striven to provide her with the best he could, paying to have her privately educated and indulging her in life's luxurious comforts, there were so many things that continued to trouble her about him. Whenever she summoned the courage to approach him about her past he would casually brush off her questions like they were of no real importance, like it wasn't a part of her identity.

"My lovely Cosette," he would say, "let us not dwell on the past and focus rather on the present and the promising future."

In these moments of despair and destitution, Cosette would be filled with a sense of loss and emptiness, like a giant abyss swelling inside her. She was certain that whatever had been inexplicably erased from her memory as a child had been significant; precious even. It brought tears rising in her eyes to think she could not remember a single defining moment, a milestone, anything remotely memorable to say the least. Many people enjoyed reminiscing about their birthdays, how they came to lose their first tooth, how they met their best friend, but Cosette could recall none of these. People are shaped by their experiences in the past; but what if you don't know of a past to shape yourself with?

Furthermore, there was the point of his over-protectiveness, which sparked curiosity in her; what was he so afraid of? Was it something linked to her past? The girl often felt like a caged bird, unable to fully spread her wings and enjoy the independence and freedom that many others shared. Instead, she was resigned to staying put and simply idle away the days, looking pretty.

Upon hearing her door click shut, Cosette slipped off her bed and returned to perch on the windowsill. She lightly pressed up against the chill of the glass and watched the condensation form like mist. With one delicate finger, she traced the black iron gate, spread open in invitation. Then, she watched it evaporate; like all her hopes and dreams.


	4. Turned Tables

**Author's Note: Apologies for the delay in updating with this latest installment. This one niggled away at me for a while and I found myself editing it several times before I was satisfied with it. As always, I hope you enjoy! :) Every single one of you readers out there keep me going, although I'm really enjoying writing this story.**

As the sunlight filtered through the grimy windows, Éponine stirred and recoiled as the familiar tight coil, like the constricting grip of a snake, seared and ached around her ribcage.

A blunt caution.

As she carefully disentangled herself from Gavroche's comforting closeness and rose to her feet, her body seemed sluggish and reluctant to shift, stiffness seizing her muscles and bones; the unpleasant consequence of sleeping on wooden floorboards. She draped the ragged cloth that had sufficed as a blanket over the boy and tiptoed out of the shelter, before breaking into a run. She needed to get home. She had no choice in the matter.

Just the very sight of the door as she reached the sordid place she was so disinclined to call "home" made Éponine tremble. The pain at her ribs had intensified with her running, like numerous blades were being repetitively plunged into them. Perhaps it wasn't her ribs, but her heart. A heart which refused to be blackened and tarnished by her maltreatment, and had remained strong and unscathed, bearing no evidence of her family's cruelty when it came to her nature. It would be very easy for her to lash out and unleash all the crudeness and vile corruption onto others, but her heart refused to turn to cold, hard stone. But nevertheless, it was by no means immune and her father's abrasive ways continued to inflict their wounds. But whenever she felt like there was nothing left, Éponine reminded herself that although he could harm her, he could never bleed out the kindness that endured.

Finally, the girl took a deep breath and opened the door. Her gaze met the bulky figure of her father, who immediately rose from his stool by the fire, a flicker of irritation and impatience in his eyes.

"About bleedin' time too! Come on, I've had a tip-off," he grunted.

With a firm hand, he steered his daughter back out of the door.

"I don't suppose you've eaten?"

When she shook her head in response, he thrust a ripe apple into her hands. Éponine was taken aback by the sudden mild manners, but then remembered a lesson through the misfortune of one particular girl in a fairytale of her childhood that had taught her that a seemingly considerate gesture could be deceiving. Suddenly, she no longer felt hungry.

As they wandered through the filthy streets of Saint-Michele, they both took comfort in the fact it was not difficult for them to blend in with the crowd. And that was an important part of their business. They met Thénardier's four henchmen on the corner of Rue Tullier: Montparnasse, Babet, Claquesous and Brujon. Each gave Éponine a sneer in greeting.

"Been slacking, 'Ponine?" Brujon scoffed, shaking his head in disapproval.

The other three men sniggered and guffawed as Éponine bowed her head, remaining silent.

"Right, men. Here's what we'll do," Thénardier interrupted in his commanding tone, rubbing his hands together in delight at the thought of getting some extra sous. "Montparnasse, you watch out for the law with Éponine. I want no mistakes, do you hear?"

He scowled at Éponine and gave her a hard nudge. "Got that, 'Ponine?"

The girl simply nodded in agreement.

"As for you three, Brujon, Claquesous, Babet," he turned to each of the men in turn. "You know the drill."

"Good! Alright, let's go!"

At that, the group separated, Éponine trudging along with Montparnasse. They mingled with the locals; the child street urchins with grubby faces, the weeping women begging for money to feed their babies, the shifty men who prowled the streets looking for their next unsuspecting victim and even the occasional blue collar. Approaching the scene of her father's next crime, she noticed the target. A respectable looking man with expensive clothing that you could only find in merchants, and high-polished shoes that could only belong to the upper class. No wonder her father was so eager; the very clothes on the man's back alone would be worth a fortune!

Just then, a tap on the shoulder made her flinch and spin around. She smiled at the sight of Marius. Marius Pontmercy was a respected young law student attending the famous Sorbonne University nearby. Although she had dared not speak of it, she was infatuated with him. With his handsome grin and warm eyes, Marius made her see the sun when everything else was bleak. He gave her hope.

"Hey, Éponine! I haven't seen you about much lately,"

Éponine turned to see the robbery unfolding slowly before her. She couldn't have Marius around here with her.

"Stay out of this, Marius. You'll be in trouble here," she said, lowering her voice and giving him a serious look. Oh, how she hated to get rid of him!

As she edged away towards the wealthy man, Marius took a step forward.

"Who is that man, 'Ponine? Why is he here?"

Reluctantly, she gave him a gentle push back. She couldn't afford to land him in trouble with the police.

"Leave me alone!"

At that, she broke into a run to escape from him, but Marius persisted in following, calling her name, before colliding with a young girl wearing a simple white dress and a wide-brimmed bonnet. As she lifted her head to look Marius in the eye and then catching hers, Éponine gasped. No, it couldn't be!

Then, she saw Marius' expression change. One that he had never used for her; one of a love-struck puppy, his eyes soft in awe. Éponine could feel her heart aching in her chest, burning desire that was persistent in his company. All she wanted was for Marius to notice her, to recognise the symptoms of a helpless girl falling heads over heels in love.

He apologised in his humble manner, before rushing off to join his fellow students, who were in amongst a crowd, which had rapidly gathered. By this time, her father and the rich man he had attempted to trick money out of were loudly arguing, attracting the attention of passers-by who were now surrounding them in interest. Just then, Éponine turned to see a dark shadow approaching; one that she was very familiar with. A magistrate.

"It's the police! Run for it, it's Javert!"

At the mention of Javert, the crowd instantly dispersed in panic. Éponine too made a dash for it, hurrying back down Rue Tullier and towards Rue Saint-Jacques, before slipping down an alley to catch her breath and collect her thoughts. That girl, it could not be possible! Surely it could not have been the pitiful, scrawny Cosette, the girl who had relentlessly swept the floors and scrubbed their clothes, who now appeared so endearing and educated. Those eyes, once so forlorn and dark, were now bright and lustrous, her skin glowing, her cheeks plump and rosy with health. A stunning contrast to the impoverished child she once was. Éponine gave a laugh of disbelief as she realised how the tables had turned. Perhaps this was God's way of showing her what life had been like for Cosette. And that man! He had arrived that fateful Christmas Eve, paid off all Cosette's mother's debts and had whisked her off into a life with a promising future. It was then, with Cosette gone and no steady income coming in every month, that the money quickly diminished and the inn collapsed, leaving the Thénardiers without a home. It was during those final weeks in the inn, with her world crumbling around her, that Éponine recalled having nightmares of being thrown onto the squalid streets with the rats, left desperately begging for food; a little girl left shocked at being mercilessly plunged into a life of destitution, one moment having everything she could ever dream of, to being reduced to a street urchin with nothing. At the tender age of eight, it had terrified her and she had woken every night screaming and crying. And now, it dawned on her that Cosette had probably had nightmares like that too.

Éponine slumped to the ground and allowed herself to sob.


	5. The Puzzle

**Author's Note: This chapter is rather short and sweet and is really just a filler. The next installment will be longer, I promise! A big thank you to the anon who became my first reviewer, I appreciate the support. And thanks, as always, to those who continue to read. Without you guys, there would be no fanfic and I would simply be writing this for my own leisure.**

That night Cosette was restless. Her mind was working overtime trying to process the events that had occurred earlier down by the market, painstakingly analysing every moment as the scene unfolded like a pop-up book, looking for clues. All had been peaceful until a stranger, a plump man in tattered, threadbare clothes, approached her father in an attempt to cajole him to donate some money to benefit the poor. However, the situation had rapidly escalated; something that now deeply unsettled her. The stranger bellowed and accused and, mingled in with his string of abuse and rage, Cosette was certain that her name had been uttered and had lingered between the two men for just a fraction too long to not be significant. It had been an awkward utterance, for her father had immediately recoiled, aghast – at the mention of her name or at the man's accusations she did not know - and had begun to retreat. It was then that they were alerted of the presence of a magistrate and both men had reacted with haste, darting away. That had confused her the most. What had they both to fear?

When they had returned home, slightly flustered and disheveled, he had simply dismissed the incident as a case of "mistaken identity", branding the man as a fool who had been very wrongly mistaken. But Cosette noted the wringing of the hands, the twitch of the lip, and the sudden tight grasp of his walking cane. She'd felt a large lump grip her throat and her heart sink. He knew something.

fAnd that girl who'd been quick to avert her eyes, but not quickly enough for Cosette to miss the flash of shame and guilt. Somehow, she had known Cosette. Now, lying motionless beneath the sheets of her bed, she found the very thought disturbing. How did that man and girl recognise her but there was no subtle instinct which suggested that they were even vaguely familiar to her? The whole situation now made her stomach lurch and her head throb; she no longer had the energy or willpower to think and was surrendering to these reflections, which would continue to torment all the while. It was like beginning a puzzle and becoming frustrated by how impossible it seemed and having to give up; her heart was urging her to strive on and complete it, but her mind was too exhausted and begged for rest.

Then floated the more pleasant memory of colliding with a handsome boy, not much older than she. Perhaps all that romantic literature that she had spent hours poring over was going to her head, but Cosette couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement, like the accident was meant to happen. Like it was destiny; fate. The image of him was still so distinct and refined: his tidy, blonde hair, his rich, brown eyes, the way his serious expression had mellowed to one of sincere apology. She could feel herself flushing with the thought and her heart began to beat in lively excitement. Was this what it was like to fall in love? Is this how Juliet had felt when she had first cast her eyes on her beloved Romeo? She clung fast to the memory of him, memorising his features, fearing it may be her only experience of love and that she may never see him again.

It was then that she fell into a peaceful sleep, the image of Marius Pontmercy engrained on the backs of her eyelids.


	6. The Life Of The Poor

**Author's Note:** **Apologies for the delay in publishing this next installment. I've been kept busy and, like the previous chapter, I wasn't completely satisfied with my initial draft of this chapter, so I took quite some time editing and tweaking until I was happy with it. The speed that I continue to publish my chapters may be slower than that of my previous ones, but be assured that I will continue to write and upload as quick as I can! Thanks for your patience and for your continuous support!**

Éponine trudged aimlessly through the streets of Paris until nightfall, thinking all the while of Marius. They had established their friendship just a year ago and it was the most precious thing in the world to her. Growing up in Montfermeil, she had been friends with several girls from wealthy families and they had been delighted in exchanging dolls, secrets and even dresses. They would spent hours by the inn fire telling stories and make a laughing stock out of the dreary Cosette as she fumbled with the keys or clumsily dropped the pail full of water, soaking through her rags. "She'll have to walk around in her underwear now!" one girl, Claudette, would cry, making Éponine and the others burst into hysterics. However, when the time came when they were evicted and thrown out onto the street, the girls were quick to abandon her. If they crossed paths on the street, they would scurry away, avoiding her like she was contaminated and that being in close contact would pass on the disease of poverty. Like a house in a storm, the foundations were never strong enough to withstand the drastic change and their once firm friendship had diminished, never to be repaired. But that was how life was; people chose carefully with whom they would associate. Those prissy girls, they had a family reputation and an image to maintain, so they had simply accepted their mothers' banishment from mingling with the poor "lowlifes" and Éponine was left with nobody. Even as she grew into a teenager, she realised that just having a kind, friendly personality alone was not enough to justify a friendship. People continued to sneer, unable to see past her filthy garments and the dark hollows of the eyes that were only seen in the poor, where the light of happiness and prosperity had once given a glimmer. Misery was seen as contagious, social status seen as the key to fulfillment and success.

That was why Éponine admired Marius; despite coming from a modest background, he unashamedly stopped to speak to her on the street with not so much as a smirk or a snarky comment. As others would slink away into the shadows in disgust at the street urchin that she was, Marius strode in the light where they were both exposed and subject to gossip. He saw past her façade and saw her show of resilience; a girl of merely seventeen still standing after her life had been thrown to the lions and torn apart, determined to keep surviving despite her bleak life. The candle of promise had extinguished long ago, but the light of hope in her heart still continued to burn. Marius was different from everyone else. Just being in his company lifted her spirit, as if he inexplicably lifted a heavy burden from her shoulders every time they met. But that wasn't all. Their friendship, that bond, tied them together in some imperceptible form, and held the key to her desires that lay secret in her heart. Friendship laid the foundations for a more intimate relationship and it was that hope that kept Éponine going strong. One day, she thought, he will realise that we are meant to be.

Now, as she continued to walk, the darkness shrouded her like a veil. The occasional comforting glows emitted from the candles of occupied homes served as her only light and guidance. Yet, the night did not intimidate her and she held her head high in confidence; she knew these streets well. She was assured and comfortable with her knowledge; she knew which were wise to avoid, ones frequented by foul-mouthed beggars and desperate drunkards looking for a quick one. And Éponine knew, more than anyone, that a girl her age unaccompanied in a dark alley was vulnerable and prime bait. Upon passing the familiar stone bridge where the Seine calmly flowed, she quickened her pace and breathed a sigh of relief as she reached the door of the place that she reluctantly called home. Although the summer air was pleasantly warm, she still craved the comfort of a fire and the familiarity of home, even if it was very basic. Her mother and father were in their usual positions by the hearth, her father blasting out a speech full of curses to his impassive wife who occasionally nodded her head to appease him and fool him into thinking she was really listening. Éponine stood warily by the door for a moment, watching the man gesticulate furiously and predicting he would spin around at any moment and launch his verbal attack onto her. After a few moments, assuming they were genuinely oblivious and not just intentionally ignoring her, the girl stepped forward, dug into the pocket of her skirt and let the eight sous clatter onto the table to announce her presence. She had managed to rob an old man out of it, conjuring up a story of a "dear baby brother" who, she had convinced him, was frail and starving to death. The man had sighed, half adversely, half despairingly, and had surrendered to digging deep into the pocket of his fine-lined trousers and stuffing the coins into her grimy palm. Éponine hoped it would be somewhat of a small consolation for the failure today. At the noise, her father froze and turned on his heel to face her and the sorry amount on the table.

"What do you call that?" he demanded gruffly, looking as if he were about to erupt into mocking laughter.

"Eight sous. I tricked an old man to give it to me. I thought it might make up for-"

A violent slam of Thénardier's fist on the table cut off the remainder of her sentence. She stood her ground, tensing so as not to flinch at the sound as it reverberated around the room. The look he gave her was one of daggers.

"Eight sous! That bastard was worth more than a mere eight sous, my dear 'Ponine!" he spat. "He robbed me of thousands of francs for that bleedin' Cosette! If it weren't for him, we'd still be at the inn and not feeding ourselves on scraps, making our living out there on the street!"

At that, Éponine bit her tongue. She watched as her father swept the coins into his pocket with a look of contempt, as if he were disposing of vermin instead of collecting up valuable money. If they were lucky, they'd get a half loaf of bread for it. Nevertheless, this did not shake the young girl. She had grown accustomed to being unappreciated and reprimanded.

All through this, her mother had remained silent, still fumbling with the button and giving the occasional tut as she pricked her finger with the needle. Her daughter wasn't worth her attention or her breath. Then, her father let out an exaggerated sigh of exasperation and shoved a plate in front of Éponine as she sullenly perched herself on a stool. A pitiful crust of stale bread.

"Get it down you," Thénardier grunted. "You're no use to me if you're on the floor dead of hunger."

Grudgingly, Éponine nibbled at the tough bread that would barely satisfy her hunger, the sourness filling her mouth and leaving an unpleasant aftertaste. After finishing, with not a crumb left, the girl could still feel the urgent ache of her stomach begging for more. By then, her father had calmed and had returned to sitting by the fire, his back facing her. At that, she decided that it would be best to make herself scarce and made for the stairs to retire to bed.

"Éponine!" her mother snapped, forcing her to stop in her tracks. "You best get making some good sous tomorrow if you know what's good for you, you hear?"

The girl nodded morosely before continuing up the creaky wooden steps. At least this time she had escaped without a lashing. Crossing the landing, sidestepping the loose floorboards that were threatening to give way or whose nails were eager to stub a toe or throw her balance. She pushed open the door to the second room on the first floor of the house – there only being two – and her heart sank. Her bedroom was incredibly basic and bare, with a mattress stuffed with hay sufficing as a bed in the far corner and a single candle to provide light. Yet, she counted her blessings; she was fortunate enough to have shelter and a cushion from the uncomfortable wooden floor that many of the poor were forced to sleep on, often waking in the night with their backs stiff and their bones aching. Weary from a day on her feet and weighed down by her dismal mood, she collapsed onto the mattress and waited for God to bring her peace in sleep.


	7. Éponine's Errand

**Author's Note: First of all, I want to take this opportunity to thank judybear236 for her time and effort in proofreading my work. It's greatly appreciated and I'm definitely learning new skills all the time! Also, as always, a big thanks to all you readers out there that continue to return and follow my work as it expands. Enjoy!**

It was barely daybreak when Éponine launched herself onto the grimy streets of Saint Michele, loaded with the determination to pocket enough to buy a loaf of bread to see the week through. It would be substantial enough to keep the persistent pangs of hunger at bay at the very least. More importantly, it would also satisfy her father and perhaps, if she was lucky, tame the beast within him for a day or so before his temper would flare once more and subsequently unleash fresh abuse. And, as usual, her mother would simply take pleasure in standing by and cackling at the cruel private show before her; a cruel circus show that recurred frequently but never seemed to bore her. Madame Thénardier had always maintained a dismissive attitude towards the violence. She remained detached; although she had taken the privilege of beating Cosette at any opportunity, she never inflicted it upon her own child. Éponine knew this was to give her the self-satisfaction that she was theoretically doing no harm if she wasn't the one carrying the whip or using her fists. How wrong she was.

It was simple: they cared for her enough so she could carry our their dirty work and earn them enough food to prosper for the week, but little enough to show their distaste at her being another mouth to feed, with one less crust of bread for themselves. They cared little enough for her to know she was unworthy of their love. They didn't care if their daughter – if she could even be called the term – suffered from restless nights because her father's threats weighed on her mind, making her stomach churn with fear and anxiety. If Éponine was unfortunate enough to fall victim to a hacking cough and fever, Madame would give her unsympathetic condolence of "Oh, what a pity!" and force her out on business regardless, lest she be contaminated. As one pretty lark managed to escape and soar into the sky of promise, another was captured in replacement, its wings clipped, destined to forever be ensnared in the cage of depravity.

By noon, Éponine was fifteen sous wealthier and was satisfied enough with her efforts to feel confident in returning home, collecting the loaf on the way. The pitiful amount had been difficult to attain; she had managed to pickpocket a pocket watch from an unsuspecting gentleman and sold it for ten sous and had managed the rest through a few tiresome hours of putting on the waterworks and begging. As she hurriedly made her way across the square, a sharp tug startled her. Marius.

"Good God, what a rumpus that was yesterday!" he remarked, grinning.

He seemed genuinely cheerful and upbeat, his cheeks rosy with health, his blonde hair effortlessly swept back and tidy. But where most people would overlook, Éponine noticed the hint of pining in those brown eyes; a sense of pleading that was desperate to be known.

"Yes, indeed it was. That cop! He'd like to jump us, but he ain't smart!" the girl replied, returning the grin momentarily.

Already she had forgotten about her worries, about the bread and about the money she had striven to steal and pocket this morning using any means possible. Marius had that effect on her; he made her carefree in that moment. She had the desire to be whisked away by him, to be free of the binding reigns of this cruel life she led.

"Éponine, who was that girl?"

But, of course, how foolish she was to think Marius' purpose was to speak to her!

"Some bourgeois two-a-penny thing!" she dismissed.

Yet, he persisted.

"Éponine, find her for me?"

"What will you give me?"

"Please do this favour for me, Éponine! I need to know who she is and where she lives,"

It was then that she noticed his outstretched hand, offering her a couple of francs. _That would be enough to buy a proper meal_, she thought. Yet, she shook the very thought away. It pained her to see the handsome Marius so desperate to know of Cosette, the very one which had succeeded in leaving behind the slums and chores. Nevertheless, she found herself giving in, grasping at the thought that there was perhaps hope yet. If she did this errand for him maybe, just maybe, he would realise that pretty Cosette was not to his fancy.

"I don't want your money," she sighed, pushing away his open hand. "I'll do this errand for you and will come and find you tomorrow."

Immediately, Marius' face lit up like a spark of electricity had suddenly illuminated it. He embraced her in appreciation.

"Thank you, Éponine! You are a true friend!"

Éponine forced a smile and bid a resigned "Good-bye", before turning on her heel and dejectedly walking away, with a murmur:

"Yes, but I will never be any more than that."


	8. Little He Knows, Little He Sees

**Author's Note: A Happy New Year to all of my readers! I must apologise for the lack of updates since November but I was kept really busy up until Christmas, so unfortunately my next installment had to be put on hold. However, at long last here it is and I certainly hope it was worth the wait for you all. As usual, thank you to those who have continued review and follow my story. It means a lot!**

The following day, as promised, Éponine led the love-struck Marius to the house on the Rue Plumet where the lark resided. The house itself, a two-storey villa, was tucked away in a secluded, unfrequented area of Paris, boasted a pretty garden around an acre in size and was enclosed by a brick wall and had a black wrought-iron gate. As they approached that very gate, Éponine stopped in her tracks. That grand gate, designed to keep safe the inhabitant and keep out the unwarranted, posed as a barrier between one life and another; one side with a wealth of happiness and love, the other of destitution and sorrow. It segregated; isolated, and in a moment of selfishness, Éponine's heart wrenched at the bitter thought that it could have once been her who was on the other side. On the side where shelter and warmth were not seen as privileges but a given right; where food was a plentiful commodity and water was pure. For years the dusty streets of Paris were where Éponine had roamed and grown accustomed. The deserted alleyway was her bed, the scraps her food. But accepting and adjusting to that lifestyle didn't mean she had disregarded and discarded her desires. Éponine may have resigned to life as a street urchin, but that did not mean she lost all hope that change could come. A small candle still wavered inside of her; the last thread of hope that she desperately clung to like a child would to the hand of her mother. When that light was finally snuffed out, it would also be the day that the pale-faced girl would die. Regardless of their position in society, every person has hopes and dreams. In the countless lonely nights she'd spent huddled in an alleyway, it wasn't the need of a warm, soft bed on which to rest her aching body, or the taste of fresh bread and clean water on her lips that she so desired. What Éponine truly yearned for was what Cosette had been fortunate enough to find; someone to love her unconditionally. She longed for the knowledge that she belonged to someone and was wanted. And Marius was going to pass through the gate onto the other side and enter that life. Without her.

Now, as she turned forlornly to see the handsome boy's face illuminate in ecstasy, she found herself suddenly understanding him. Marius too was simply driven by the force of love, nothing else in the world mattered to him but his beloved. To be loved is to be brought alive. Sure, you were physically alive so long as your heart kept beating, but to be truly alive was for that heart to be filled with fulfillment and adoration. The human heart beats with a purpose, and that purpose is to find its soul mate. And now, gazing at Marius as his eyes twinkled, filled with the sparkle of excitement and delight, Éponine could feel her heart beating desperately. Wasn't Marius meant for her?

"You are certain this is where she lives?" he asked, his eyes not tearing away from the gate.

"Yes, Monsieur Marius. I am certain. I followed her back yesterday."

Éponine's voice quavered as she spoke; yet Marius appeared oblivious. At the confirmation, he leapt up onto the railings and lithely hoisted himself over into the garden and disappeared. For a moment, the girl remained still, her glassy eyes remaining fixed hopefully on the gate. After a moment, she took the initiative to stay hidden and slunk into the shadows of the wall, where she stood motionless and silent. From where she was, she could peer stealthily through the railings and see the two lovebirds, speaking in soft tones. After eavesdropping for several moments, the gamine surrendered with tears streaming down her cheeks and slumped against the wall. How foolish she was! Those words he spoke, so genuine and meaningful, would never be uttered to her. To Cosette, it was poetry, to Éponine it was like a dagger plunged into her heart that twisted with every word.

She didn't know how long she'd been sobbing before she was alerted to the presence of company. In the distance, she could just make out five figures, speaking in gruff, low tones, approaching the house, striding with purpose. One man confidently strode ahead of the gang, grumbling to himself and carelessly swinging a half-empty bottle of ale. Éponine's eyes grew wide. She briskly wiped away her tears and took a deep breath, regaining her composure, and strode out casually.

"'Parnasse, why, what are you doing so far out of our patch?"

Montparnasse sniffed but, to her relief, her presence didn't appear to arouse any suspicions.

"This house," he pointed to the house of Cosette and her father. "We're going to do it! The man's rich! He's the one that got away the other day."

Éponine was panicking behind the cool façade. All she could think about was Marius and what he would think if he were to find her with them. He would be disgusted and think it was all a plot, an ambush that she had played a part in. She knew she had to warn them inside, but how?

"What have we here?" cried Brujon, as the rest of the gang caught up.

It's your brat, Éponine!" scowled Babet as he turned to Thénardier. "Why she hanging about you?"

"Éponine, get on home!" her father demanded. "You're not needed in this."

"I know this house. There's nothing here for you! It would simply be a waste of your time! It's just the old man and the girl. They lead ordinary lives."

"Don't interfere! You've got some gall!" Thénardier spat.

"Éponine's mind was racing as she desperately tried to think of what to do. Then, an idea came to her: a threat.

"I'm going to scream, I'm going to warn them!"

"One little scream and you'll regret it for a year!" remarked her father, striding forward authoritatively in a bid to scare her into submission.

A piercing scream erupted and startled the men, making them scatter. All but Thénardier.

"You wait my girl, you'll rue this night!"

He gripped her wrist tightly, making her gasp. She braced herself for the brunt of his anger. But, upon hearing the rapid thud of running footsteps approaching, he reluctantly abandoned his punishment and shoved her away, hissing as he made his escape:

"I'll make you scream, you'll scream all right!"

Glancing towards the gate, breathless and shaken, Éponine noticed a figure clambering over the railings. It was Marius. She dashed over to him. He was still beaming ridiculously.

"It was your cry that sent those scoundrels away! Éponine, you saved the day!"

Then, realising that the situation was still unsafe, his eyes scanning the deserted street before them, he suddenly grasped hold of the girl's hand, and lead her down an alleyway.

"Let's not be seen!"

The mere contact with Marius was electrifying to the besotted Éponine. It was like an electric shock; thrilling and sensational. The tears that she had shed earlier had long been forgotten and her face, naturally pale and thin with poverty, suddenly bore a rosy plume of health. How the emotion of love can affect a human being!

It had started to rain heavily when they finally reached the more familiar streets of Paris and Marius stopped to face her as they prepared to go their separate ways.

"You're a good friend, Éponine! I want you to know I am grateful for your help."

He hesitated, the rain dripping from his sodden hair onto his face, and looked her in the eyes. There was no sparkle there when he spoke to her. He shoved his hands into his pockets and took a step back, a slight smile flickering on his face as he tried to think of what to say. Words didn't come so easily to him as they did with Cosette.

"Well, see you around."

And, at that, the boy retreated down the cobbled street, leaving her alone. But alas, the spell had been broken. He didn't look back. The boy was blind to the fresh anguish that he had brought. But one would have to look closely to see the fresh tears as they cascaded down the girl's cheeks to distinguish them from the raindrops that continued to pour.

Little he knows, little he sees.


	9. A Whirlwind of Change

**Author's Note: I should start by saying thank you very much to my loyal readers who have stuck by this fanfic despite the delay in installments and for the new readers who have stumbled upon my work and continue to favourite it. It's greatly appreciated and keeps me motivated. I can only apologise for the delay in having my work updated. I suffered from brief writer's block and found myself knowing what I wanted to write but unable to find the right words. Eventually it came in the form of this short chapter and I promise the next chapter will be longer. Enjoy!**

Upon hearing Éponine's shrill scream, Cosette and Marius had been quick to bid farewell. Without a second glance, the girl had dashed indoors, fuelled by the fear that her father would catch her having been outdoors so late. That would only raise suspicions and perhaps jeopardise her chance of seeing Marius again. By the time she reached her bedroom she was flustered and breathless - from the brief exhilaration of rebellion or from simple exhaustion she did not know – and before she had the opportunity to compose herself, her father burst into the room.

"My God, Cosette! I heard a cry and it startled me! Are you alright?'

His eyes were wide and filled with alarm, his entire body tensed.

"It was me who cried out, Papa! I heard voices out on the street and looked out of my window. There were three men beyond the wall and I scared them off."

This evidently came as no reassurance to the man and his next reaction both puzzled and frightened Cosette. He had paled significantly upon the mention of three men loitering in front of their home and had stumbled out of her room in his haste. Disconcerted, if not dazed, the girl remained frozen on her bed, listening to the sounds of impatient slamming of drawers and frenzied rummaging as her father darted around like a blind dog in a meat store. If she strained to hear, she could just decipher snippets of his frantic mumbling: "found my cover…got to get away…Calais…".

"Papa?" she quavered, failing to conceal her concern.

"Hurry, Cosette, prepare to leave. We are going away."

"But, Papa!" she protested, rising to her feet.

"Say no more, Cosette! We need a change and this is an opportunity to do so. Tomorrow, we leave for Calais."

With that, her father shut her out and closed his bedroom door, leaving Cosette to stare blankly at it in stunned silence. What had caused her father to panic and feel it necessary to take such a drastic and brash decision? And what of Monsieur Marius? She may never see him again! The very thought of losing her fine prince after just discovering him made her tremble and her heart fill with despair. The blonde girl dashed downstairs to her father's office and rummaged in his desk for a piece of paper and ink bottle and began to write. Satisfied after reading it over, she sealed the envelope and slipped outside. Cosette was slightly disappointed to see Marius had not dared to return as she lodged the letter between two railings of the grand gate that separated her from the world, in a hope he would discover it. It was then that a figure caught her eye. A boy, with his head bowed, his face hidden beneath a red newsboy cap, was leaning up against a wall just across the street. He appeared to be waiting for someone or something. He was dressed against the cold air with a brown overcoat and trousers.

Cosette knew better than to speak to strangers, especially given the incident tonight which had so dreadfully roused her father. Yet, her young mind was consumed with thoughts of Marius and she needed to know he would get her letter.

"Excuse me!" Cosette called, her blue eyes pleading.

In response, the boy looked up and hesitantly approached. As the figure neared the light, Cosette caught a glimpse of a grimy face, damp with the rain that had fallen earlier.

"Could you deliver this letter to a Monsieur Marius? I believe he is fighting on one of the barricades."

Gently taking the letter, the boy simply nodded. And yet, Cosette could see something in his eyes; a glimmer of recognition, a deep sorrow. Cosette rummaged in the pocket of her dress and offered the boy the eight sous she had. She looked disdainful; she wished she could give him more. Yet, the boy gently pushed her hand away, declining, and Cosette flinched at the freezing touch. But before she could utter any words, the boy simply forced a smile and turned on his heel and began to run.

"Thank you," Cosette breathed as the boy disappeared into the darkness.


	10. Fate and Destiny

**Author's Note: This is the penultimate chapter to my 'fic. I'm feeling quite sad that there is only one chapter left for me to write but I'm sure more inspiration will come to me and I'll start penning another to follow this one. For now, I leave you, my readers, with this next installment and hope you stick around to read my fanfic through to the end with me. As always, enjoy!**

For a moment, Éponine could have sworn she saw a flicker of recognition in Cosette's eyes; a sign that she had seen past the disguise and through to the vulnerable girl that lay underneath. It was a faint glimmer that had made her heart leap – with anxiety or hope she did not know – and she was sure that she hadn't been able to conceal it. Yet, Cosette didn't utter a word, simply digging deep into the pocket of her dress and offering money. It was evident then that she had read Éponine's features wrong; her eyes one of need instead of want, of pitifulness instead of hope. The message hidden in her eyes had been misinterpreted.

Now, clutching the letter Cosette had asked her to deliver to Marius, Éponine wasn't sure whether she should feel delighted or wretched. She read it over again for the fourth time, taking in every single one of Cosette's elaborately handwritten words as if she were reciting a script for a play. Her mind was battling with what action to take: deliver the letter to its intended recipient or keep it a secret. Delivering the letter would make Marius despair over his beloved's departure, but could lead him to be happy once more with the knowledge of where she was. He would be able to find her once more and they would no doubt be reunited. The very thought brought tears pricking her eyes. However, in a moment of selfishness, Éponine also found herself considering keeping the letter from him. Perhaps, with Cosette swept away abroad, Marius would realise that there was someone closer to home that he loved. At least, with this option, she had a chance with him. Yet, Marius would be deeply distraught that his first love had flown away. Oh, how she wished it were a play. At least then she would know the ending; how everything would pan out, where each of their paths would lead. Yet, this story was still being written and Éponine knew she held the key that would determine their futures. She could turn things around. Finally, content on the decision she had made, she stood up and strode confidently onwards.

A shrill shriek made Éponine gasp and flinch, scurrying for cover as another shell blasted through into the robust barricade constructed in the street, sending debris flying in all directions. She crouched behind an overturned cart to shield herself from the ricochet of bullets as she glanced up towards the peak of the structure in a hope of finding Marius. It was then her eyes locked on his familiar blue coat and his blonde hair, still neat despite the chaos around him. But then, a man dressed in a familiar navy uniform, adorned with brass epaulets on the shoulders, blocked her view. Fear gripped her heart. A National Guard, armed with a bayonet, was targeting Marius, who was blissfully unaware of the danger, distracted by one of the other men. The girl didn't need to think as she launched herself up onto the barricade and grasped the muzzle. Upon hearing the gun fire, the startled men turned around. Enjolras grabbed up his pistol, his eyes set on the guard, and shot him clean through the head.

"There's a boy climbing the barricade!" exclaimed Joly.

Marius joined Enrolras as he prepared to fire. It was only when the boy lifted his head up to face them that Marius recognized who it was.

"Wait! I know him!" he cried, turning away Enjolras's gun before dashing to the boy's aid.

"Éponine?" He offered her his hand and hoisted her up and over safely to the other side. "What are you doing here?

It was then, as he took a moment to take her in with her disguise, her overcoat now torn and covered in dust, her red cap almost black from the gunpower residue, that he realised the girl's breathing was laboured and her face ashen. She was trembling, her knuckles white as she gripped onto a nearby post for support. As her legs gave way beneath her, he rushed to catch her and eased her to the ground.

"Éponine, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice shaking.

It was then that he withdrew his hand and saw the crimson stain.

"You're hurt!" he gasped, frantically searching for anything to help staunch the bleeding. "You need help!"

As the boy turned away from her to summon help, Éponine took a deep breath and somehow found the strength to raise her arm and grab his hand. The shock of her icy touch immediately made him face her once more, his warm, brown eyes fearful.

"I don't feel anything, Monsieur Marius, don't worry."

Her voice was weak and husky, as if she were slowly fading. And, as Marius gently sat down on the ground, being careful not to move the girl's broken body more than necessary, it dawned on him that she was doing just that. Seeming to accept that the girl's fate had been sealed and that any help now would be futile and in vain, he resigned to the only other thing he could do to help her; comfort her. He held her close, enveloping her in the protective warmth of his arms, and cradled her.

"You're here and that's all that matters," a genuine smile broke on her grimy face and a single tear cascaded down her cheek.

Marius' heart faltered. He had never seen just how beautiful Éponine was when she cracked a geuine smile because he simply had never witnessed it. Her face had instantly lit up, her eyes filled with a startling brightness as if she had truly been brought to life inside. In truth, Éponine had never felt so at peace. It took her a moment to realise that the warm, tingling feeling she was experiencing was happiness. The searing pain which had seized her as the bullet tore through her hand now seemed to have dissipated, as if simply being in Marius' presence had healed her.

"What were you doing here, Éponine? You knew it was dangerous."

Marius' query sparked her memory; the letter! With her uninjured hand, she retrieved the letter from her bodice and handed it to its rightful owner. Resigning with the knowledge that she was dying, she decided that she would ensure she left her friend, and Cosette for all she had been through, with a prosperous, happy future.

"I hung about the Rue Plumet after you'd left…Cosette was at the gate…she asked me to deliver this to you…"

She was struggling to speak now, her breathing ragged, each breath becoming more difficult than the last. Her peripheral vision was blurring, everything beginning to merge together and becoming vague, like a child's painting. Yet, even in her final moments, her heart was singing, beating with a purpose. She watched as Marius took the letter, slipping it into the pocket of his coat, and proceed to soothingly brush away her hair from her face. With a deep breath, she took in his handsome features and gazed into his eyes.

"You know, Monsieur Marius…I think…I was rather in love with you."


End file.
